


Unexpected encounters

by Kayuri



Series: Tinte Drew studios misadventures [1]
Category: Bendy and the Ink Machine
Genre: BAMF!Wally, Gen, He just didn't get enough sleep, He runs afoul of Wally., Sammy is a grouch, The ink demon finds its way to the studio of Joey "Tinte" Drew, There's also a lone Striker that's present for like three sentences, he isn't hostile to Wally
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-13
Updated: 2019-11-13
Packaged: 2021-01-30 06:20:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,341
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21423577
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kayuri/pseuds/Kayuri
Summary: Granted, Mr. Drew could cut off on the casual magic every once in a while, but generally the job isn't so bad.Or:Wally slaps the Ink Demon with a mop.
Series: Tinte Drew studios misadventures [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1544452
Comments: 4
Kudos: 24





	Unexpected encounters

**Author's Note:**

> This was brought on after quite a hilarious conversation with some friends. I'm not apologetic in the least.

Wally sighed in satisfaction as he gazed around. Not one speck of dust or ink anywhere, and no one to complain either. As grueling as night shifts could be, the silence was a blessing. And he had an automatic permit to snooze off on the dayshift. Not even Sammy refuted that, and that guy was a real piece of work. Probably a workaholic too. Wally snickered at that thought, and leaned on his mop, content to just close his eyes for a few seconds. The low hum of electricity was something that was able to lull him in quite easily, and it actually put him in danger of falling asleep. After a few seconds the young man opened one of his eyes and gazed at the nearby Bendy-clock, one of these god-awful things Mr. Drew had once commissioned en-masse, and which then turned out to be off-model. Someone had thought that a little devil needed a tail, and now they had fifty off-model Bendy-clocks that couldn’t be sold in the Studio, one ticking as loudly as the next one. He had one at home too, every employee had. Too many clocks, too little employees. Hence the number still in the studio. He blinked again, and rubbed his eyes. Almost time for the early risers to come in. He stretched, heard his back crack a bit, and picked up his bucket of stained water. As he rounded the corner to the closets, he swore he saw something move in the corner of his eyes. When he turned around however, it turned out to be one of the cutouts that had fallen over. Why they had so many he never really knew, and by now he wasn’t even sure if he should ask. He had seen them do things during his time when he ran afoul of Mr. Drew’s latest magic, and he was in no hurry to find out if the ones in his studio could do things too. He put the bucket down, picked the cutout up, and rightened its position.  
“You better not be up to any funny business, ya hear?” He wagged a finger at the cutout, and he swore it’s grin became wider with mirth. He quickly moved on from that thought, grabbed the bucket and moseyed off.   
Once the bucket was emptied, Wally could hear movement at the entrance door. Probably Sammy, that man was always the first, mostly to hog all the coffee. Wally fished for his keys and hurried to get to the front door, then fumbled a bit when he heard Sammy huff.  
“Sorry Mr. Lawrence. Come in, come in. Everything’s done right now, but I didn’t touch your desk at all.”  
“Good you did that. You’d bring disorder in.” The man sounded grouchier than usual, which was easily accountable to the bags under his eyes, and the bunch of new music sheets clutched in his hands. Just when Wally was about to remark something, he stiffened. A low hissing sound sneaked by his ears, a sound he remembered all too well from the loop where his alternate self had run off like a goshdarn ninny and left the studio to rot and become a demon infested hellhole. Granted, the job was thankless, and Mr. Drew could tone down the casual magic sometimes, but otherwise a good job.   
“Mr. Lawrence. Hold still and shut up please.” He sounded unusually serious, which had the desired effect. When the hissing sound didn’t disappear but became louder, Wally hissed right back.   
“Franks, wha-”  
“Shut it.” Inky veins sneaked over the walls, the floor became drenched and warped, and drops of ink began to fall from the ceiling. The air felt unnaturally still and oppressive. Rattled breathing sounded.  
“Mr. Lawrence, I’d advise you to get out of that door really quick.” Wally rubbed the scars on his arms, and Sammy’s eyes widened. When he grasped the doorknob, it didn’t move, only the sound of a jammed lock answered.  
“Shit. Alright then, behind me. I did see this more often than you. And no offense, but throwing a banjo or serenading that Demon won’t do you any good.” Everyone in the studio had been informed of Wally’s misadventure once it was over, and it had garnered a few sceptics, Sammy amongst them. Until they had seen the jagged cuts with traces of ink still in them. They knew that the forearms were unblemished that morning.  
“Franks, what the hell?” Wally had brandished his mop like a lance, a vicious grin on his face.  
“It may not be an axe, but it does it’s work, better than a plunger at any rate.”  
“A Plunger?” The disbelief was palpable. Then Sammy choked, when a mangled foot came into sight, and a humongous skeletal shape limped into the foyer. A trembling grin, stretched over a sepia-toned face, ink dripping over the eyes. Ribcage visible, crooked bowtie smack-dab in the middle. One arm too human, one arm too long with a cartoonish glove attached. Legs bent at all the wrong angles. Too thin. Too long. Sammy couldn’t breathe, he felt as if ink was clogging up his airways. The thing grinned wider and took a step forward, only to stop and swivel it’s head at an unnatural angle as it spotted Wally. Wally, who was still brandishing the mop like a weapon, and had his cap tucked in a pocket.  
“Step away from him. Or you’ll regret it, inkstain.” He grinned viciously, an ugly grin just as wrong as the Demon’s. Said Demon chuckled hissingly, the veins on the wall writhing. then it took a step forward. It’s reward was a warcry as Wally ran forward, and a mop to the face. It stepped back in bewilderment, and if it could, it probably would’ve blinked. A second later it was hit with the mop again.   
“Go. Back. In.” Wally growled, and hit the Demon again.  
“Or I’ll get the acetone!” A hissing growl answered him, and the trembling grin looked strained, as if it was ready to break apart into a myriad of sharp teeth.  
“Don’t gimme that, bucko.” Another hit my the wet mop, and a strangled cry.   
“I was just done here, and now I have to clean it all again!” Sammy raised an eyebrow at that exclamation.  
“Is that really your main concern, Franks? There’s a literal Demon in this foyer and you’re worried about doing your job again?”  
“I needed all night for that!” Wally dove for the Demon again, and hit it in the gut, and into the hallway to the closet it escaped from.   
“You have priorities, Franks. Really, you- Holy shit!” A Striker (as Wally had dubbed them) had apparently escaped as well. And was interested in Sammy. Lethally interested. Sammy responded in kind, and had bashed it over the head with the nearest object, which turned out to be Wally’s dustpan. The Janitor snorted at that. Figures.  
“At least you’re not hammering me down with that this time.” He slapped the Demon again, and spotted the open closet door.  
“In you go, you overgrown beanstalk” was his last warcry, and with an impressive kick for good measure, he pushed the Demon back into his own studio.  
“Mr. Lawrence, get your ass over here, and throw that Striker in too. I’m gonna get a chain from Mr. Drews office.” The Music Director did as asked, too shocked to do much else.  
Fifteen minutes later Wally sighed.  
“Not how I wanted the morning to start.” He rubbed his neck. At least the inky mess disappeared alongside the Demon.  
“Mr. Drew really needs to keep his magic in check.”  
“No kidding.” Sammy was as deadpan as always, and sipped his coffee. With milk for once. He wanted to get the sour taste of ink out of his mouth, even if it probably was imaginary. Wally had assured him that at no point he actually ever got anything in his mouth, but that the Demon had that effect on people. There was a reason Wally avoided Bacon Soup now.  



End file.
